Page 8 of Finding Home

“I’m not going to tell Aubrey about my mandatoryrehab, Paula. There’s already enough shit for us to deal with, without me adding that to the pile.” Aubrey doesn’t know I’m coming to see her today, any more than my daughter does. I got the address from Paula, hopped the first flight out this morning to Billings, rented a car at the airport for the hour-long drive to Prairie Springs, and here I am.

“If you’ve got a better idea than hiring Aubrey to babysit both you and Raine, I’m all ears,” Paula says. “Although, before you enlighten me, I should remind you that your sobriety coach will need to certify your sobriety for the first time today, by ten o’clock tonight, Pacific Time, so whatever brilliant idea you’re about to spring on me had better be easy and fast to implement.”

I feel like a caged animal. But still, I’m not convinced Aubrey is my only option here. “Ten o’clock is still a long way away,” I mutter. “I’ll let you know what I decide in a bit.”

“Suit yourself. How close are you to Aubrey’s house?”

“Exactly point-three miles. I pulled over to talk to you on a residential street around the corner from her address.”

Paula lets out a little sound of relief. “Now, don’t forget, Caleb, you only get one chance to make a first impression. When you meet Raine, remember you’re big and covered in tattoos, so you’ll want to crouch down to her level and?—"

“I’ll handle it fine,” I bark out, feeling annoyed. “Talk to you soon.” Admittedly, I don’t know jack shit about kids, but I know enough, at least, not to barrel in there like a bull in a china shop and start barking orders at a two-year-old who lost her mommy mere weeks ago.

After ending the call, I start up the rental car again; and after a couple turns that wedge me deeper into the tree-lined neighborhood, the robot voice on my phonetells me I’ve arrived at my destination. The Capshaws’ house.

The home is a small but welcoming one. A one-story house that’s well cared for. Probably a two-bedroom/one bath kind of configuration, by the looks of it. Is my daughter inside that house? Is anyone? If not, Prairie Springs is small enough to ensure I’ll meet my daughter, sooner rather than later. Probably, by the end of today, at latest. The thought sends goosebumps rising up on my arms.

I take a deep breath to calm my nerves, shove my phone in my pocket, grab my backpack, and exit the rental car. With long strides, I make my way up the walkway toward the house. But before I get to the porch, the sounds of high-pitched, happy giggling and squealing catch my attention. They seem to be coming from the other side of a wooden fence—from the home’s backyard. On instinct, I head over to the fence to take a peek.

I’m six-three and change, so it’s easy for me to peer over the upright wooden planks. When I do, my heart stops at the source of those giggles: the little girl from the photo.RaineBeaumont. A pint-sized blonde with soft curls that bounce with every step she takes. She’s being chased around a lawn playfully by a knockout brunette with legs for days.

"I'm gonna get you!" the leggy brunette exclaims, laughing, and Raine screams with unrestrained joy as she toddles across the grass.

Tears prick my eyes, even as I’m smiling. My god, my kid’s laugh sounds exactly like my mother’s, albeit at a much higher octave.

Regret and shame slam into me again, this time because I didn’t fight Claudia tooth and nail, after gettingthat curt “fuck off” email from her. I emailed her again after that, a few months later, as well as messaging her on social media; but when all my messages bounced back, and it was clear Claudia had blocked me, every which way, I made the regrettable decision to leave it alone for now. To try again later. Mom was going downhill fast, at that point, and I felt like I had enough on my plate without opening up a can of worms that might not even get the desired result in time. The only thing worse than not telling my mother about her grandchild, I figured, was giving my mother false hope about meeting her grandchild.

But now, suddenly, as I stare at my child, my flesh and blood, I know I made a terrible miscalculation. How did I not understand the unbreakable bond that was forged the instant that little angel came into the world with my DNA enmeshed in every fucking cell in her tiny body? That little person right there ismine,goddammit. And nobody, not Ralph Beaumont, or Aubrey Capshaw, not even Claudia Beaumont from the grave, can take her away from me, now that I’m realizing my fucking mistake.

As I’m standing frozen and mesmerized at the scene unfolding before me, the leggy brunette—Aubrey Capshaw, I presume—catches my gleeful daughter, scoops her up, and covers her in noisy, energetic kisses that elicit even more giggles from Raine.

“You’re fast, but I’m faster!” the brunette shouts playfully.

“No,I’mda fasty!” Raine shouts back, still giggling away.

“Oh, yeah? Show me, then!” Aubrey puts Raine down, and the pair repeats the same chasing exercise I’ve just witnessed, much to my grinning, teary-eyed delight.

I’m fixated on Raine, initially. For quite sometime. But when my gaze eventually shifts to study Aubrey, it occurs to me she’s smoking hot. She’s got long, tanned legs. Shiny, flowing, dark hair. Smooth, glowing skin and a fresh-faced, girl-next-door kind of appeal that’s insanely attractive to me. I haven’t had sober sex yet. No sex at all for at least six months. And I’m suddenly feeling every minute of my celibacy.

Am I allowed to fuck my nanny/sobriety coach, or is that frowned upon?

I’ve no sooner had the thought than Aubrey’s eyes land on me—on the top half of my head that’s exposed to her over the wooden fence—and she screams bloody murder at the top of her lungs.

Chapter 5

Aubrey

Ralph Beaumont.

Holy fuck.

He’s here. In Prairie Springs. Claudia’s father has come to take Raine away from me, just like I’ve been petrified about, ever since that stupid, clueless detective left a message for him about Claudia’s accident.

These are my panicked, frenzied thoughts when I notice the top half of a male face—two blazing green eyes topped by a black, knit cap—spying on Raine and me from over my parents’ backyard fence. At the sight, a blood curdling scream lurches from my throat, prompting the man’s eyebrows to shoot straight to the edge of his knit cap.

As the scream leaves my mouth, it occurs to me the man looks quite a bit younger than Ralph Beaumont. Decades younger. Not to mention, he’s quite a bit taller than Claudia’s father, too, as I recall; unless that guy is standing on a step stool behind that wooden fence.

The realization that the stranger isn’t Ralph, after all, is a massive relief. But not a complete get-out-of-jail-free card for my nerves, since he’s still, nonetheless, a completestranger who’s peeping at Raine and me over a fence. Hopefully, he’s nothing but a lost delivery guy or a neighbor with some wayward mail. But I pick up Raine, just in case, and hold her protectively to me. For all I know, Ralph sent this guy here to threaten me or otherwise try to pry Raine away from me.

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